


Va tacito e nascosto

by Ravenne86



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bottom Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Light Masochism, M/M, Mentions of Death, Mild Blood, Murder Husbands, One Shot, Smut, Top Hannibal Lecter, light choking kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:28:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27444901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenne86/pseuds/Ravenne86
Summary: “Why am I always caught between wanting to hurt you, and wanting to love you?” Hannibal asks out loud, both to Will and to himself.Will freezes at that, motionless for a few long moments. Hannibal can feel the heat begin to radiate from the other man, an obvious flush creeping up the sides of Will’s neck before he finally responds in a small, shaky voice.“Then hurt me, and love me.”
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 15
Kudos: 215





	Va tacito e nascosto

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically how I wish the beginning of Season 3 would have gone~ Takes place shortly after Will's arrival in Italy.

Clearly, insanity is beginning to overcome him. An itch only one thing can scratch, and it’s the one thing he absolutely should not want.

Hannibal Lecter has never viewed himself as insane. A psychopath. A monster. Any of the names others might throw around in connection with his name and his crimes. The inside of his mind has always been rather calm considering all of the questionable ideas that have come from it. His trains run smoothly down their prospective tracks, consistent, quiet, and reliable. The rest is an eerie stillness, from the depths of which stems the most violently brilliant aesthetics.

But not now. 

Now, his mind has become crowded with unwanted images that haunt his every waking moment. And behind them all is one overwhelming desire. To hurt, to cause pain, and then to soothe it all, wipe it away with a tender touch. And it’s all because of one man. Will Graham.

Hannibal cannot pinpoint the moment that things began to change, to shift and evolve in his mind. At first, his interest in the profiler was pure curiosity. The way the man’s brain works is truly fascinating, unlike any other he’s encountered. And he’s studied many. Of course he wanted to know more….to see how far he could push, how he could influence the other man, what he’d blossom into.

But somewhere along the line, it became more. It’s now an urge to claim, to own, to possess. Hannibal has never known love, not in any real sense. To love another….it’s a foreign concept. HIs love is twisted, it’s not normal, he knows that. But it’s just as real as any. And it’s all-encompassing. He’s become a devout worshipper at the altar of Will Graham, and wants to bathe himself in the fount of such beauty and truth.

And so, Doctor Lecter finds himself here. Just outside the cathedral where he’d allowed Will to catch up with him. Where Will had given him forgiveness. Forgiveness he perhaps did not deserve. But he’d never been hurt the way the profiler had hurt him….he didn’t know he _could_ be wounded that deeply. It broke his heart to end things the way he did, but it’s a lesson Will needed to heed, and heed well. 

Hannibal Lecter is not a man that takes betrayal lying down. 

Even so, seeing Will tonight made his heart beat, his mind race. He couldn’t bring himself to leave the scene yet, in the hopes and seeing him just once more. And he does….he watches from the shadows as Will exits the cathedral.

This is not part of the plan...following the profiler, seeking to catch him, to have him once and for all. Not the plan, but Hannibal can’t hold back anymore. Will’s words have freed him, they’re even now, and he’s grabbed Will’s hand before his brain has even fully registered what he’s done. 

_This is not part of the plan_ …

Hannibal tugs Will into a nearby alley where they’re obscured from view of any passersby. He places a hand over Will’s mouth, insisting on his silence as he makes sure his conquest can see him fully, face only slightly illuminated by a lamplight nearby. The familiar scent is one he wants to drown in, but not now, not yet. “Come with me.” He commands, knowing Will won’t deny him. Not now, not after everything. 

Will nods, and that’s all the affirmation Doctor Lecter needs. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Feeling Hannibal’s presence in the catacombs was nearly enough to have Will coming apart at the seams. Perhaps only having Signor Pazzi nearby was what did it...kept him self-aware and better able to keep up the facade of “being ok.” 

Will Graham is not ok. He hasn’t been for some time now. Probably hasn’t been ok since the good Doctor Hannibal Lecter came into his life and blurred the lines between right and wrong. Not to mention all the other more...intimate...lines that have been blurred as well. 

Hannibal sees right through him, always has. He feels so laid bare before that knowing gaze. It’s both terrifying and gratifying all at once, and it’s an addiction he can’t seem to shake. Will needs to be seen, and known. And Dr. Lecter is the only person that can truly give him that.

What a wild realization _that_ is.

Ever since waking in the hospital, Will has asked himself the same questions over and over. _What would have happened if I’d have just gone with him? Could we have been truly happy in the place made for us? Am I a fool for being so determined to do the right thing? Is the right thing even what I thought it was?_

Will is torn between finding Hannibal to take him down, and finding Hannibal to beg forgiveness (despite already being forgiven, it doesn’t feel adequate..) and take his hand, allowing himself to be led into the dark night of the killer’s beautiful mind. 

Finding Hannibal’s little “gift” for him only served to muddle his thoughts further. It was….gut-wrenching, but yet stunningly wondrous at the same time, just like all the Ripper’s previous tableaus. The man had crafted the body with gentle, skilled hands, molded his clay into the exact shape he desired, like a potter crafting the perfect masterpiece. A heart, a declaration of a sick love. But a love, nonetheless. 

Will still hasn’t entirely decided which route to take. That is, until right now this moment, with Hannibal’s hand on his mouth, those knowing eyes boring into his own, practically begging him to come with him. 

Will can’t deny him. Not anymore. 

He lets Doctor Lecter lead him away, hailing a cab and speaking an unfamiliar address to the driver. They’re both silent on the drive, and Will’s nerves feel more fried than ever before. It takes a while...at least twenty minutes, if he were to guess...to get to their destination. It’s a hotel, one that Will himself could never have afforded to stay in. _The Four Seasons Firenze_ , if he read the sign correctly….he’d merely glanced at it, too preoccupied with thoughts of what’s about to happen. Hannibal books their room and guides him upstairs with swiftness. 

The suite is….insane. Top floor, completely secluded, and part of Will wonders if Hannibal has brought him here to kill him.

Maybe he’d be alright with that. So long as it was by the Doctor’s hands, he could accept it.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hannibal had already messaged Bedelia on the way to ask her to forgive his absence tonight. He’s a feeling he won’t be returning anytime soon. It’s good fortune that she knows better than to try anything foolish..

The hotelier recognized him. It’s good to have a few places in one’s back pocket for times such as these. Hannibal has multiple such places. 

Only once he and Will are completely alone, does Hannibal finally speak. 

“Forgive me, Will. It was not my plan to steal you away tonight, but it seems your presence has overridden my rational sense.” The Doctor lets out a soft sigh, moving to the bar. A nice stiff drink seems to be in order, and he thinks Will might agree. Sure enough, when he offers, the profiler nods. 

“It would seem rational sense tends to elude us both when in the other’s presence.” Will replies softly, endlessly grateful for the bitter sting of alcohol that’s soon to glide down his throat and wipe away his inhibitions.  
  
Hannibal pours them both a shot of bourbon on the rocks, bringing one to Will and then moving to sit on the couch nearby, making a gesture for the other man to join him there. It’s as fine a spot as any to have this conversation. 

Will speaks up first, taking a sip of his drink first for courage. His fingers fiddle nervously around the circumference of the glass, and an exhale fuels his speech. “I...know I said I forgave you earlier but....there’s a big part of me that thinks you didn’t do anything requiring forgiveness..”

Hannibal meets the profiler’s gaze at that, not responding just yet, giving Will a chance to continue in the hopes that words he longs to hear will fall from those tantalizing lips. He sips his drink, nodding for the other man to continue. It takes every ounce of courage Will possesses to say what he does next, blurting it out before he can think better of it.  
  
“I wanted to come with you. I should have. I’m sorry.” 

Hannibal sucks in a breath sharply, as if the wind has been knocked out of him. There it is….he hadn’t imagined Will’s sincerity in their moments together before that fateful night. “It was all an act at first..” The profiler admits, and it’s not any kind of revelation….the psychiatrist had already figured out that much, “A trap, of course. It was my idea, and Jack ran with it. But after a while I ….” Will sighs, scrubbing a hand through his tousled locks before continuing, “the act stopped. It became real to me. And I didn’t know what to do with that. I was scared. So...I did what I thought was right. Turns out it wasn’t.”  
  
Hannibal reaches to touch the side of Will’s face, seeing no point in keeping the touches to himself anymore. This better not be another ruse, he doesn’t think he could take any more of those. He might fully become the monster everyone thinks he is. Part of him wants to kill Will right here and now, rid himself of this weakness, but he can’t. They are intertwined, their very souls melded, and getting rid of Will would be akin to losing a crucial part of himself. 

“I don’t blame you for Abigail.” Will continues. “I know it was an eye for an eye. I hurt you, you hurt me. That’s human nature.” Hannibal huffs at that, but he knows the man’s words are true. “But you’re here now.” Doctor Lecter finally speaks, “and you’ve come to terms with your true desires? I do hope this isn’t some kind of game, my dear. You will lose.”

Will licks his lips nervously, chuckling in a soft tone. “I’m not quite that stupid, Hannibal. No games. No lures, no bait. Just me. Tired of running from what I want. Even if what I want is dangerous and more than likely very illegal.” Hannibal chuckles at that, bringing his face close to Will’s, pressing their foreheads together. 

The words that come next are unexpected, but honest and raw.  
  
“Why am I always caught between wanting to hurt you, and wanting to love you?” Hannibal asks out loud, both to Will and to himself. 

Will freezes at that, motionless for a few long moments. Hannibal can feel the heat begin to radiate from the other man, an obvious flush creeping up the sides of Will’s neck before he finally responds in a small, shaky voice.  
  
“Then hurt me, and love me.” 

Those words shatter what little remains of Hannibal’s restraint.

It’s permission….to do anything, whatever he wants, and there’s too big a list of things he wants. Best to start with the most obvious and go from there.

When they kiss, it’s like a collision. Hannibal isn’t sure who closes the gap first, he’s too busy trying to memorize the feel and taste, branding it onto the forefront of his brain. This is a higher bliss than any he’s ever known, beyond the power he feels when the very last bit of life drains from some useless waste of flesh, the effect caused by his own hands. Beyond the ecstasy of exploring Will’s mind, molding him, aiding his becoming. Beyond the utter joy he experiences when he creates a culinary masterpiece, the meat so perfectly prepared for his enjoyment. 

This...tops them all. 

And Hannibal wants more. So much more.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hannibal doesn’t remember who started it, how their clothes wound up in a pile on the floor, drinks cast aside, how they got to this moment where skin is sliding against skin and everything is so heated, so right. It’s as if he’s become a victim of one of his own psychotropic drugs, the lesser moments are a blur and the good doctor is simply riding the best high of his life. 

Hannibal has had his share of lovers, but never before has the feel of bare flesh against bare flesh driven him to the brink of madness. The urge to explore overcomes him, and Will is the epitome of every Greek God mixed into one. The cold, hard marble of the statues he admired as a boy are nothing compared to this reality, though.. Will’s body has both give and take, and Hannibal desires nothing more than to reciprocate in equal measure.

Will shudders beneath him as he takes his sweet time, savoring. No crevice is left untouched, unmapped by skilled fingers or tongue or lips. When teeth enter the equation, they seek to inflict both pleasure and pain, and if the way Will reacts is any indication, Hannibal is quite successful in his endeavor. 

“ _Shit…_ ” The profiler gasps, wanting more of everything. It’s all going too damn fast. The heat within him is rising to a boiling point, and they’ve barely begun. Teeth dig into the soft flesh of his thigh, hard, and Will’s vision goes spotty. “More…” Is the only other word he can manage to form, and Hannibal is all too happy to give him exactly what he wants.

How apt, how so very _them_ to blur this line, too. The line between not enough and too much. Between sweet rapture and a sharp, stinging agony. 

A trickle of warmth slips along the soft curve so very close to Will’s very core, and it’s then he knows Hannibal’s teeth have broken skin. He doesn’t care. He dearly hopes he’s covered in blood and bruises once they’ve finished.

The burn of being readied is so damn good, and Will is grateful that the other man takes time to torture him properly. He arches off the bed, body strained and tightly strung, like a violin ready to produce the sweetest melody. The long, expert fingers inside him do their work with a determined concentration that Hannibal brings to any task he completes. By the time Hannibal pulls away to enter him, Will is breathless, chest heaving, and nowhere near as ready as he thinks he ought to be. 

Hannibal did that with purpose, no doubt. And that’s alright. Will wants it to hurt. 

The first press has Will’s thighs quaking so hard he thinks he might faint. 

He doesn’t, though. He is conscious of everything, perhaps even hyperaware. The antlers of the stag have pierced him more deeply than he’s ever thought possible. He is owned, claimed, possessed, and there’s no option of escape. Will doesn’t want to, anyway. He wants to drown in the current of Hannibal, be swept up in his beauty, his art. 

The Doctor pauses for a moment so they can both adjust, and Will feels awash with emotion. This is it, the culmination of everything up to this point. All their conversations, all his fighting against the raging tide. Realization dawns. 

“All the times I thought I wanted you dead… in reality, I just wanted you. Like this. Exactly like this.” The words come from Will’s sweet mouth, and Hannibal is gutted. The kiss Will is given in response is all-consuming, and the older man takes the opportunity while Will is distracted to begin to move. His motions are harsh, fast, and entirely precise. Will’s fingernails dig into his back as the younger man pulls back, a scream just barely trapped in the back of his throat.

“ _Hannibal…_ ” 

Fingers wrap around Will’s throat and the profiler thinks for a moment that maybe, just maybe, Hannibal means to kill him after all. Dying like this wouldn’t be so bad, really. But Hannibal’s hand is controlled, seeking merely to belabor his breathing as teeth sink into the apex between neck and shoulder. 

Another blossoming bruise. Will won’t last like this…

They move together in perfect harmony, creating a better piece of music than any Hannibal could’ve composed on his own. Will rises up to meet Hannibal at every thrust, unsure of a time when he’s ever been this level of desperate. The older man’s grip tightens, and Will’s eyes flutter closed, a groan ripped from him at the combination of stimuli. He makes a choked noise, and Hannibal revels in it.

“I could end your life, right now.” Hannibal breathes right next to Will’s ear, bringing to light what the younger had already been wondering. Will responds by wrapping his hand around the back of the older man’s neck in turn, fingers twisting into the soft locks he finds there. 

“You...w-wouldn’t..” Will replies brokenly, voice soft due to the pressure on his larynx. “You need me.” He whispers. “Like I need you. We are the same.” Hannibal knows he’s right, and the smirk that dances on his lips is all the reassurance Will needs. 

Everything escalates, then. The race to the finish line has gone from a trot to a full-on sprint, and their bodies move together like they’ll explode if they don’t combine. Hannibal knows the end is near by the way Will grapples for him, by the oh-so-sweet clenching around his length, by the breathy adorations slipping from his lover’s lips so easily. He times his movements just right, free hand gripping at Will’s hip hard enough to leave more telltale marks. The angle is perfect, Hannibal’s teeth breaking through soft flesh once again as it all comes to a blinding end.

As the sharp pain shoots through his shoulder, Will can’t help but to laugh as he crests his peak, absolutely exuberant. This is a euphoria he never thought he could reach. He gasps for air as Hannibal relaxes his grip, and Will’s body tightens, only to immediately release, every fiber of every muscle absolutely melting. Will feels warmth flood his insides and realizes that Hannibal has followed right after him, over the precipice and into paradise.

Hannibal will always follow after him. There’s nowhere for Will to run. Thankfully, he’s given up on running.

Hannibal speaks to his muse in Lithuanian, a litany of both curses and appreciations, gasping a bit himself until he fully comes down from the high. Will looks up at his older lover, and the rapture in the man’s eyes is all he’s ever wanted to witness. 

Neither man moves right away, simply staring at each other, well and truly awed. Every action has consequences, and there’s things that will need to be dealt with, talked about, and soon. But not now, not right now. Right now is for soaking in the glory of clarity, of admittance and truth. 

“I love you.” Will admits, and it’s the most insane admittance of all. Insane, but just as true as any other.  
  
“And I you, darling.” Hannibal replies in kind, and both men smile, Will chuckling nervously just a bit. “And so, what shall we do with this information, Will?” 

Fingers reach to swipe hair away from the older man’s brow, the gesture affectionate and beautiful in its simplicity. 

They’ve come so far, the two of them. Hannibal was once the hunter, Will the prey, the muse. The fresh clay waiting to be molded. They’ve shared in their treacheries, both sought to deceive in their own ways. But no more. The monster has been soothed, the insanity abated, and they are bound to each other now, in every sense.

“Well…” Will lets out a wistful little sigh, sated and happier than he’s been in a long, long time. “I say we make our own way. Not even divine intervention can stop us now.” 

Hannibal smiles, appreciating the reference to an earlier conversation, one that was rather dear to him. 

And of course, Will is right. 

Doctor Lecter no longer feels the need to harm Will, at least not in any real sense. They’ve had their reckoning, and the only thing to do now is go forward, into their future, and whatever it may hold.

Hunter and hunted. Pain and joy. Love and hate.

Together.

At last.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written a fic in....a bajillion years but I simply couldn't resist weaving this together. The Hannibal fandom has completely wrecked me, the show is such a work of art and I'm absolutely in love. 
> 
> Enjoy this pathetic excuse to write poetic smut, basically. I like to think it's vague where it needs to be, and explicit where it needs to be. Hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing! Leave me some love~
> 
> Copy this link for photos of the gorgeous hotel, in case your imagination needs fueling: https://www.fourseasons.com/florence/photos-and-videos/


End file.
